Snow Trouble
by Arallion
Summary: Father Nightroad returns from a solo mission on a snowy evening. It always comes as a surprise when someone misses you enough to wait out in the cold... Implied AbelEsther. Oneshot, decidedly silly. Winner: best illustr. short fic, SakuraCon 2007


**Title: **Snow Trouble (At All)

**By: **S. Arallion

Based loosely on the anime series "Trinity Blood" _(originally crafted as a novel by Yoshida Sunao, turned into manga by Kiyo Kuujou and most recently developed into an anime series produced by GONZO)_

**Disclaimer:** All characters in this story are owned by their respective copyright holders and authorized licensors —namely, not myself. Anything you don't recognize is my fault. I make absolutely no profit from my use of these characters. -- Arallion

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Rome was not built for snow, the priest noted absently, trudging past a faltering line of sisters who were skidding and teetering dangerously along the slick cobbles. In their light, smooth-soled footwear they really shouldn't have been out in the weather, yet there they were, holding each other up, occasionally making a loud squeak of alarm as someone's feet went out from under them and pulled several others to the ground with them. That had happened twice as he'd passed, and each time had resulted in nearly the entire group dissolving into fits of giggles and shrieks while the matron in front looked on in stern disapproval.

His heavy, steel-toed boots were somewhat more useful, but it was really the _manner_ in which one walked that made the difference between forward progress and ignominious falling on one's posterior. And his stride was automatically shortening into the nearly-mincing step that set the entire foot down as a whole, with no rolling of the toe or heel and a full, careful balancing of weight. It was a trick he'd learned in Albion as a child, before he'd been introduced to the three other 'experimental humans' which were to become his family in a home far removed from this one...

Strange what things one retained, after nearly a century of disuse.

A cold, feathery flake stuck to the tip of his nose and melted almost immediately. He brushed the moisture away with a glove, which was unfortunately also cold and wet, so it really didn't improve matters much. With a faint snort, the priest flung back his head into the elements, the hood of his woolen traveling cloak sliding into a heap down his back. At this seeming victory, the snowflakes appeared to swirl even more thickly, settling on his exposed platinum hair and the wide shoulders of his uniform in a mantle of fluffy white.

The giggles faded into the distance, and the darkening streets were empty of travelers. His boots made a satisfying _scrunch,_ _scrunch_ in new, untrodden snow. Ahead, the snow whirled; light in darkness, strange pallid silhouettes against the charcoal grey of evening. The sound of the city was lost, silenced in the muffling white, mute and breathless in the face of such ephemeral grace and beauty.

"Father Nightroad!"

The priest blinked. Twenty-five candles were coming towards him from the open gateway to Cardinal Sforza's compound. Or – wait, no, it was only one candle, but the flame was reflected so many times from the water droplets on his spectacles that it _looked_ like twenty-five. He tipped the thin wire frames down on his nose and peered over them curiously. "Sister Esther! What are you doing out here? You'll get soaked!"

The speaker, who had indeed been Sister Esther, glared at him with exasperation on her pert features. "Father - ! Honestly. And you aren't?" The candle sputtered as a snowflake passed too near and met an untimely demise; one white-gloved hand flew to protect the flame.

He spread his gloved hands innocently. "Well, I was already out in it– one of the hazards of being a traveling priest, you know." He cast the nun a sidelong glance as she settled into step beside him, matching his careful stride without batting an eyelash.

"Well, that's as may be but I'm sure Lady Caterina didn't want you to catch a cold from it," Esther was continuing, her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her and the candle she protected. Her white overcoat and boots blended with the new snow perfectly; only the cobalt trim of her habit and wimple and the bright red strands of her hair broke the monochrome of the scene. A bit like the snowshoe hare in winter, he mused absently, recalling a moment long past when he'd been assigned further north and had startled a pair of those very animals from their resting place in a field. They'd been almost invisible, save for their sparkling dark eyes and twitching pink noses. Scared him half to death, too, as they had exploded in a flurry of snow right in front of his feet.

Esther, her new white camouflage notwithstanding, was sometimes very _much_ like a hare, the priest smirked faintly to himself. Jittery, reactionary, and entirely unpredictable in what way she could turn next… Her nose even twitched a bit like one, when she was annoyed (as now). Covering a sudden grin behind his glove, he let his gaze linger a moment as she concentrated intently on the placement of her feet. He wondered if her hair would be as soft… watching as the scarlet locks fluttered in silken ripples, teasing the crystalline snowflakes as they danced past, longing to catch in those fiery strands.

_Shame on you_, an amused, faintly accented voice echoed in his mind, clear-toned as church bells.

He drew in a sharp breath, jolted from his reverie, and then began coughing violently from the frozen air hitting the back of his throat.

_Why, when dealing with this girl_, he wondered, _did_ _his conscience always end up sounding like Lilith?_

Esther turned her head and glared at him once more, but the look softened as he nearly doubled over, clutching his neck in a futile attempt to warm the inside from the outside. "Oh! Now see, that's exactly what I was talking about, Father Abel! Oh, for Heaven's sake… why did you take your hood down, it's all full of snow now and useless! Do you do this on purpose…?"

Eyes streaming, Abel managed to get the coughing under control as she fussed over him; a rather amusing sight considering her diminutive stature. When standing straight, the top of her head barely reached his chest. He took a more cautious breath and let it out with a sigh and a weak, embarrassed smile. "Ahh… Sister Esther, it's only the cold air, nothing to be concerned about…"

"Well, you need to get inside and dry off anyway. Lady Caterina will want to hear your report, and I'm sure she'd prefer not having to worry about you dripping all over the paperwork." The young nun's prim, snappish tone was belied by the gentle hand that remained supportively at his arm; the candle had been left to fend for itself. Abel felt strangely warmed by her attention.

"Ahh, of course," he managed to respond while she began tugging him onward up the uneven walk, continuing to grumble under her breath about how he had absolutely no care for his health and really, he should have been back days ago and _honestly_, could Rome have _asked_ for worse weather?

His eyes widened suddenly, remembering something. "Esther – watch out, there's a loose – "

"EEEP!!!"

Apparently all nuns _did_ squeak alike, when they slipped and fell on cobblestones.

"Sister Esther! Are you all right?" The priest knelt beside her quickly, taking quick note of the angle at which she had landed. Her feet had not completely gone out from under her, and she'd caught herself with one arm as well, which was good because she hadn't fallen backward and hit her head, but bad because it could mean a broken wrist. "Esther? Talk to me, Esther…" Her expression was blankly stunned, and for a moment he replayed the fall in his head, wondering if she had indeed hit her head and he'd somehow overlooked it.

She blinked, and shook her head vigorously like one trying to clear figurative cobwebs from the brain, setting the candle down carefully on the snowy ground. "Ow," she pronounced in a faint voice, before her blue eyes turned up to meet his worried gaze.

"Esther? Where does it hurt?"

The little nun began to open her mouth, and one hand crept towards her posterior. Then, her face flared bright red and she twitched all over in something that might be interpreted as a full-body huff, folding her arms together across her chest. "Never _mind_!!!"

Abel choked back a startled laugh and raised his eyebrows innocently to try and clear his expression. "So, your hand is all right then? No sprained wrist? No sprained ankles?"

Esther looked at him suspiciously, but it was obvious that he really _was_ worried, and not simply having a joke at her expense. "No, I don't think so… just surprised," came the thoughtful reply as she pulled her legs back underneath her in preparation to stand. Her eyes flew open suddenly, and she shot him another glare as he held out a hand to give her support. "Why didn't you _catch_ me?"

It was his turn to blush, because he knew that he could have – if he'd been paying attention. "I – well – I just remembered the loose cobble - " And he'd been daydreaming, enjoying her presence, even if it did involve her ranting on about things unimportant – but she didn't have to know that.

"Oh… never mind," she sighed bleakly, as he pulled her to her feet. "It would have only meant we'd both have fallen." Abel noticed that she rubbed her bottom surreptitiously when she thought he wasn't looking. Then her words registered.

"Hey! Wait a minute, are you implying that I _couldn't_ catch you?"

"Not at all," the Sister sniffed with asperity. "I'm implying that you couldn't have kept us both out of trouble in the process." And with that, she turned on her heel and continued stepping carefully back up the walk, adjusting her skirts with little sharp motions that let him know that indeed, she was upset, and embarrassed, and that she would probably be stomping off if the footing wasn't so treacherous.

"Sister Esther! How could you think such a horrible thing…" Abel stood there for a breath, dismayed, trying to determine how many levels of meaning her comment had held. It could have been quite literal, and he should probably take it as such – but the sharp pain in his heart wouldn't let him. It _was_ Esther, after all; the woman had more layers than Caterina's lasagna. Did she truly have that little faith in him? Hadn't he been there for her, more often than not? Hadn't he kept his promise _this_ time? Frustration rose bitterly in his throat, as he started to trudge up the path after her, boots sinking down into at least three inches of pack-able snow…

Esther tossed her head and waved a hand carelessly – _too_ carelessly – over her shoulder. "Oh, it's all right, Father Nightroad, we're all used to i-IIIIHHH!!!!"

It was quite interesting how many different sounds Esther could make, Abel mused to himself with an odd detachment, watching as the nun frantically worked to scrape the remains of a snowball out of the neck of her habit before it melted. He was certain that she might have cracked glass with that last shriek, given a bit of training. It was too bad the Vatican choirmasters were still rather stodgy about keeping their choruses male.

"_You!"_

Ah, it seemed that she'd recovered.

"Yes?" he drawled with an arch look over his glasses' frames, casually tossing another snowball in one gloved hand. "Was there something?"

Normally he would be retreating behind the silly façade right about now. In fact, normally he would never have thrown a snowball at her. But something about the way she'd responded just then – it had dredged up a deep-rooted obstinacy that he'd thought long-buried.

Her little mouth opened in a pink "O" of anger. "FATHER NIGHTROAD, YOU THREW A SNOWBALL AT ME!!!"

"Why, so I did." Good Lord, this was entertaining.

"WHY did you throw a snowball at me???" Bright sapphire eyes blazed at him in accusation.

"Ah, well, now that _is_ an interesting question," he remarked, blithely pretending to ignore the rising color in her cheeks, and trying not to snicker as she squirmed at stray chunks of melting snow sliding past her shoulders into warmer areas. "Do you really want to know?"

"YES!" Esther stomped her foot in frustration, her head tossing furiously with the motion. Then she scrambled to stay upright as the jolt disturbed her precarious footing.

Now it was time to really push her buttons. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "It ASKED me to."

Esther's expression froze, shading into bewilderment, disbelief and then outrage. Her voice, when she managed to speak, was deceptively calm. "It… _asked_ you to?"

"Oh yes," he nodded, with an innocent, serious expression. "Because, you see, you've forgotten Lady Caterina's candleholder. And we can't possibly allow you to be so irresponsible."

To his dismay, rather than flying into a tirade, Esther actually considered that for a moment, looking back at the candle flickering forlornly on the walk, and then sighed. "Oh, heavens, I suppose I should pick that up." She started back down towards him, watching her footing to the seeming exclusion of all else.

Abel watched with a raised eyebrow and a blank expression. The reaction had been much calmer than he'd expected. It left a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach… perhaps she really _had_ written him off. He supposed he couldn't have it both ways forever; in fact she'd been surprisingly patient to put up with his shenanigans so long to begin with. Perhaps she'd made some entirely new friends now that she was living at the Vatican, and had discovered that he wasn't all that necessary…

The little nun bent over to pick up the candleholder, and he self-consciously averted his eyes as the overcoat clung to her derriere. He heard an odd scuffling noise, however, and turned back in concern –

_POOF!!!_

Briefly, Abel wondered where the whiteout had come from. Because certainly little _Esther_ had not been able to smack him so hard in the face with a snowball that he would stagger backwards, blinded by frozen white powder. Spitting snow out of his mouth, he looked up to see the young nun standing next to the flickering candle in much the same pose as he'd adopted earlier, tossing another snowball negligently in her hand.

"Was there something?" she said with a little smirk. He narrowed his eyes and was gratified by seeing the expression fade slightly, as she took a step backwards. "Hey, now… you started it!" she protested faintly.

"Sister Esther," he said piously, "let's not cast blame…" And with a deft scoop and flip, another snowball sailed at her shoulder, missing only because she slipped when trying to get out of the way.

"Father Nightroad, you are impossible!" she yelled, chucking her snowball blindly in his direction and diving to pack another one. He held off from throwing the next until she'd turned to throw hers, and then timed it so that the snowballs collided in midair, showering them both in powder. "No fair!" the girl cried, skidding towards him with a double handful of snow, petticoats flying.

"Esther, be careful!" he laughed, skittering backward and leaping a tree-filled planter neatly to avoid her. He didn't know where she planned to put that snow, but it was bound to be cold, if not downright embarrassing. She scowled at him, pressing on.

"Stop that running away, you!" Snow dusted him lightly as the handfuls were tossed in his direction, and she stumbled to a halt, panting. Her expression suddenly turned serious. "You know, I didn't really mean that the way it sounded earlier. I'm sorry. I really do count on you – I actually thought you'd be rather tired of it."

Abel blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected that at all – he'd been feeling a little better just knowing that she would still return his antics in kind. Trying to keep a silly grin from spreading across his face, he neglected to realize that he hadn't yet stopped backing up.

"Father Nightroad! Watch out!" Esther gasped, hands fluttering to her face in horror as he crashed into another tree, bouncing off and rebounding directly into her with a yelp of surprise. She tried to avoid him, but tripped on a root and fell backwards into the planter, arms splayed wide. To his credit, he did manage to catch himself on his hands before squashing her flat.

There was snow all over him from where the offended tree had dumped its branches, snow going down into his boots and gloves, snow partially obscuring his spectacle lenses, and definitely snow down his neck from Esther's efforts earlier. By all rights he should be freezing. But as Esther's eyes gazed up at him, solemn, glimmering pools of liquid sapphire, he felt nothing but warmth.

"Er… you were saying, Sister?" he ventured at last, breaking the deafening silence, drawing back from their nose-to-nose position. She hesitated briefly, then grinned, putting a wet, cold glove to his cheek.

"You're blushing!"

Abel blushed harder. "Am not!"

"Liar!"

"Do you want more snow down your neck?" he grumbled, giving her a dire look as he got to his knees.

She shut her mouth with an audible click, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, even when she took his hand to get to her feet. He shook his head in despair, shaking snow out of his coat while walking over to pick up the lonely candlestick.

"Oh, so now you're all right with picking it up for me?" she jibed gently, chuckling when he rolled his eyes.

"Well, it seems that _you_ can't be trusted with it," he sniffed, elbowing her as she fell into step again next to him.

She elbowed him back; lower lip stuck out in a pout, and then skidded on the ice with another squeak.

Wordlessly, Abel grabbed her under the arm before she could fall. When she seemed to have her footing again, he left his arm draped across her shoulders, tucking her securely in against his side. After a moment, he felt her tiny arm loop around his waist. Together, they proceeded up the steps in silence, although he could feel Esther's head tilting to glance up at him occasionally.

He let her go only after he closed the great wooden doors behind them. Gazing down at her thoughtfully while she stamped her boots free of snow, he finally handed her the candlestick with a wry smile. "You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble by not coming to look for me, you know."

"I know," Esther replied, finding something extremely interesting to look at in the candle wax. "Actually, I – well, you missed Christmas here, Father, and I had a gift I wanted to give you." She hurriedly pulled a small, brightly wrapped package from her overcoat pocket, and pushed it into his astonished grasp, before backing away down the hallway. "Goodnight, Father Nightroad," she blurted, then turned and scampered away, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind.

"Good night, Esther," he said faintly, watching her hasty retreat.

He sighed finally, glancing in the opposite direction down the long, broad hallway. Caterina would be waiting for him to check in, although she was probably not overly concerned about getting the entire report tonight. But before he did that –

The package was oddly shaped, lumpy and soft in one area, hard-edged in another. He tugged the slim, dark green ribbon free and the cloth wrapping fell open in his hands. Curiously, he pulled it aside to see the contents, and his eyes widened in appreciation. The lumpy, soft section he'd felt was a stack of meal tokens; Vatican personnel were allotted a few every week to use in the café as they chose. Esther must have saved hers up – a quick count revealed at least forty.

He swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat, remembering how often he'd pestered the girl for her extra tokens. It had been more of an excuse to irritate her than anything else, although he did admit to having a bottomless pit for a stomach. Apparently she had taken it to heart.

The second part of the gift was a small, cunningly wrought octagonal box, its glossy surface patterned with different colors of inlaid wood. Pocketing the ribbon, wrapping material and meal tokens, he turned it about in his hands, admiring the workmanship. The crafting mark on the bottom wasn't familiar to him, but the whole item had the general feel of Rome, so perhaps she'd found it at one of the local markets. It took him a moment to discover how to open it, but when he did, twisting one side of the octagon to allow the lid to pull up, he gasped in delight.

_Chocolate._

Little chocolate paillettes, in a cellophane wrapping so they wouldn't stain the box. They were slightly melted from being in her pocket; chocolate was probably not the best thing to store there, he mused absently, pulling off a glove and extracting one of the pieces to pop into his mouth and savor. It was delicious anyway.

There was a note. He licked the trace of melted chocolate from his fingertips and gently poked it open.

_Dear Father Nightroad,_

_I thought you might need something to store your candy in, since you had so much trouble finding your ID last time. _

He grinned at that. She would never let him live that down, would she?

_I thought a wooden one might be better than metal; I would hate to see you accidentally weld it closed._

Now _that_ was actually quite thoughtful. Still, it unnerved him to think that Esther would take his Crusnik form into consideration when buying a gift. _Weld it closed_, indeed...

_Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm grateful for all you've done for me; even though I've been so much trouble you've always been so kind. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas. I lit a candle for you._

_Your friend, _

_Sister Esther Blanchett _

Abel stared at the note for a long moment, absorbing the content of her measured, even penstrokes as a now-familiar wrenching sensation pulled at his heart. "Dear Esther, you don't know the meaning of trouble," he murmured with a sigh. Perhaps she troubled _him_, but that was nothing she had control over. He deftly folded the slip of paper again, returned it to the box, and slid the cover closed, slipping it into his own pocket alongside the tokens.

He had to go to Caterina's office, before it became too late. But first…

Esther dried her hair with a towel as she walked back to her tiny room from the bath, humming thoughtfully as the thirsty cotton swept through the red tangles. She hoped that she hadn't been too frightfully forward, giving Father Nightroad his gift right there in the entryway. In truth, she'd still been in shock; she'd experienced so many emotions in that brief span of time outside that she wasn't even quite sure what had happened anymore. Except – the feel of his arm around her shoulders lingered even now, and a part of her still wished she'd been brave enough to wrap both arms around his narrow waist before he'd opened the door.

She shook her head nervously, trying to dispel the thoughts. _Honestly, it was entirely inappropriate_, she thought in a fierce tone. There, she'd put herself neatly in her place. She would say her prayers and then go to bed. She would not wonder if Abel was catching a cold from walking around in drenched clothing, nor if he was being kept from a warm bath by delivering his report. She wouldn't think about what that report might entail or how many horrible things he might have seen – or been involved in – while he'd been gone – oh, _honestly!_ Stomping her foot so that pain shot up her ankle from the impact, Esther opened the door to her room with a violent twist of the knob, and then froze in astonishment.

Sitting on the simple bedside table/desk was a silver tray, containing a large porcelain cup and saucer, a small pot of milk and a tiny slip of paper. The cup was steaming heavily, as if it had been brought not seconds before she'd arrived. Looking around the room warily, Esther scoffed at herself. There was barely room for _her_ in here, let alone a place for someone else to hide. She peered out the door and down the hall; seeing no-one, she closed the door securely and approached the desk.

The familiar, soothing fragrance of Sister Kate's herbal tea wafted up to her nostrils. Her brow furrowed faintly. They were never allowed to have tea in their rooms, let alone after Vespers – although she'd had it in Istvan whenever she liked, and missed that freedom dearly. But no one would have known that here, would they? She picked up the scrap of paper, while adding the milk to her taste, and her eyes widened to see a small piece of chocolate that had been hidden beneath it.

It was very brief, a hasty, awkward scribble of a note, and the paper was quite obviously torn from the edge of a mission report form. It said simply:

_Sister Esther,_

_I can't _not _share these, they are delicious. _

_By the way, you are only trouble when packing a snowball._

_Thank you._

- _A_

Esther let a smile creep across her face, and picked up the cup of tea to cradle it in her hands as she sat on the edge of her narrow bed. And she felt no embarrassment or impropriety in remembering a brief, stolen moment in the snow, when she thought she might have seen just a hint of spring thaw in her friend's glacial-blue eyes.

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